YouKnowWho's Secret Past
by alyoucha
Summary: Here, we visit Voldemort's school years, and discover things that even Dumbledore would have never guessed, beyond his wildest dreams...
1. Chapter 1

Diagon alley was packed.

I shoved my way through the crowds, Professor Dumbledore gliding along beside me. Several people gawked at me, as though I sprouted wings, but I think they were just looking at Professor Dumbledore, who with his white Merlin beard tucked into his belt and his outlandish clothes was _definitely_ a sight to behold.

"Hurry up, Leah," he said politely. "We must get to the bookstore soon."

The crowd didn't peter out as we reached the store. It was amazing. I already loved books, but now, in a magical bookshop, filled with everything from dark, bloodstained volumes to some light paperback fictions, I couldn't believe it.

I bought my books required for Warthog, or whatever that place was called, then we left for Ollivander's, a 'wand' shop, according to Professor Dumbledore.

Now _here_ it was a lot less crowded. Outside, the store was dark and shabby, with a peeling gold sign reading _Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C_. Professor Dumbledore pushed open the door, causing a bell to ring, which echoed round the shabby little store. As we walked in, a figure stepped in from a store room in the back.

"Welcome," said the man. "I am Ollivander. Greetings, Professor Dumbledore-" He smiled at Professor Dumbledore, "-pleasure to see you again. Who is this?" He looked at me with his piercing eyes, which were such a pale blue, they almost looked white.

"This's Leah Zacharias," Professor Dumbledore replied serenely. "She is starting Hogwarts come this September."

"Pleasure to meet you Leah," Ollivander replied. "I believe you are in need of an Ollivander wand."

"Finest wands in Britain," Professor Dumbledore intervened.

Ollivander nodded. "Which is your wand arm?"

"Uh, well I'm right handed," I replied, holding it out.

Ollivander measured my right arm, my left leg, the distance between my nostrils, and around my throat, before he vanished through the shelves, all packed with dusty black boxes.

"I must go bathroom," Professor Dumbledore said. "I'll go right opposite to Fortescue's ice cream parlour. I'll be back as soon as possible." And he left the shop, the door shutting with a ring.

It was very eerie in the store. There was not a sound to be heard, apart from the shuffling of Ollivander, searching for the perfect wand.

But within seconds, someone walked in. I turned round to see two people walking in; a tall woman, with pale blonde hair and equally pale skin, along with a boy of about my age, who looked like a younger, male counterpart.

"Oh hello," she said, when she saw me. "Where's Ollivander?" Her voice sounded haughty and very posh. She looked smug and she turned around, looking for the wand maker.

"He's finding me a wand," I replied.

"Oh yes," she said. "Abraxas needs a new wand. His broke last spring when he was playing Quidditch on his broom with his cousins from Salazar's Hollow. He broke his leg as well as his wand. Abraxas had to send him to St. Mungo's; he got infected with some of the dragon heartstring in his wand. But that's all over now."

As I didn't understand a word if that, I looked around idly. The pale boy, Abraxas, caught my eye for a moment. He had hollow grey eyes which didn't betray any emotions.

Just then, Ollivander came rushing back in, holding a wand. "Well this seems suitab-" He caught sight of Mrs. Malfoy and Abraxas in the threshold. "Why, welcome, Madam Malfoy, and Master Malfoy. Pleasure to have you here. What services do you require?"

"I need a wand." Abraxas spoke for the first time, his voice just as smug and arrogant as his mother's. "Mine _broke_." He said broke as if it were a terrible word that should never be uttered.

"Why, I am sorry to hear that," he said. "Let me get you one as soon as I am done with Leah."

Mrs. Malfoy looked thunderstruck as if Ollivander had just crapped on her shoe as he turned back to me and handed me the wand. "This is useful. Pine wood, core of unicorn hair. Try it! Try it!" He sounded eager, like a football fan cheering on his team.

I took the wand and waved it around, feeling foolish. Immediately, Ollivander grabbed it away, and gave me another one, from a pile he accumulated from his search.

"Oak with dragon heartstring?"

"Ash with a Kneazle's small intestine?"

"Holly with phoenix tail feather?"

"Beech with a hippogriff feather?"

Ollivander tried dozens, and by this time, the Malfoy's were turning scarlet, and I was starting to doubt my magical abilities.

I had only discovered that magic even existed a week ago. My dad's a librarian and my mum's a failed novelist. Neither of them were wizards, so it was a shock to all of them when I was. No one believed it at first, but then Professor Dumbledore, headmaster of '_Hogwarts'_ came and explained. Then explanations for why my zits disappeared and my enemies also vanished and reappeared miles away in a forest.

Finally Ollivander came back.

"Try this one." He held out a wand which I took from him and waved around.

"What is it made of?" asked Professor Dumbledore.

Ollivander shook his head. "I'm not sure. This is a second-hand wand; I couldn't find one that seemed just perfect."

Slightly disappointed, I paid for the wand and left.

So there's platform nine.

And there's platform ten.

Nine and three quarters was nowhere in sight.

Professor Dumbledore gave me my ticket when we parted at the end of our Diagon alley visit, and wished me luck at Hogwarts. He didn't explain much more.

The train left at eleven. It was currently ten to.

I looked behind me. There was a boy there, tall with dark hair and a pointed nose. He looked slightly smug; he reminded me of that Abraxas kid. I watched stand on the side, by platform 9. He stood silently, watching a trio, two of which I recognised.

One was a woman, in her mid-thirties, with long blonde hair and a haughty look. She stood with her arm around a boy I recognised as Abraxas. They were with a 30-something year old man, which looked like an older Abraxas, with his white hair and pale skin.

The dark haired boy on the other side of platform 10 and I, on platform 9, watched the blond family and they walked up the wall between 9 and 10 and...

...Walked right through.

The boy by platform 10 shrugged, as if to say "What the hell; I got nothing to lose" and he took his trolley, with a cauldron and suitcases, and walked through the wall, disappearing.

I walked up tentatively to the wall around me. I looked around at the people there, some walking past, unaware, but some people (who I noticed were families with cauldrons) kept sneaking peeks at the wall. I felt like I was holding up the queue, so I walked in...

...and arrived in a smoky, dark station, with a sign above my head, reading _9 ¾_. I grinned to myself, dodging out of the way as another family came from the normal world.

There was a large steam train; the Hogwarts express. I saw several kids rushing towards it, but some were hanging back, hugging their parents or younger siblings, saying goodbye. I felt a pang of jealousy.

The train was packed. Running along the aisle, I struggled to find an empty compartment with room. Eventually, I found one with one boy in; that dark haired one of the other side of the platform.

I coughed awkwardly. The boy had his head bent down over a thick hardcover. He looked up briefly. "Hello," he said. His eyes were dark and stared.

"Uh, I'm, uh, L-Leah, and I, uh, couldn't, uh, find another, uh, y'know, uh, compartment, so, uh, can I sit, uh, here?"

"Sure. I'm Tom. Tom Riddle."

Tom was quite quiet during the journey; we discussed his book, which seemed alright. Eventually, an old, plump lady with a trolley came and offered us sweets. I bought these things called something like Bertie Bott's Every Flavoured Beans.

"What flavours are they?" I asked Tom, assuming he tried them before. He shrugged.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I never had them; I wasn't raised in the wizard world." I could sense some bitterness behind his words, so I distracted him.

I took one out of the box. Oddly, it was a bright violet. I bit half off it off and chewed it tentatively. I spat it out. Tom asked me what it was.

"Aubergine." I rinsed the taste out with my juice. Tom took a bright yellow one.

"Lemon?" I asked, when he bit off a corner gingerly.

"Pencil." We both burst into laughter.

For the rest of the journey, we tasted chilli, marmalade, Salmon, see weed and something that tasted oddly of sweaty socks.

"What house do you want to be in?" I asked Tom curiously. He shrugged.

"I don't know," he said. "I read some of the books over the holidays. Gryffindor seems like a good idea, being famous for their chivalry and braveness. Ravenclaw is smart, which seems nice. Hufflepuff? No way. Slytherin; possibly. They're sneaky and devious."

"But aren't they supposed to be evil?"

He shrugged. "Evil people aren't evil. The world isn't split into Good and Evil. Maybe "evil" people just have different views on what is "good" and their goals."

"Hm," I commented. "Deep!" We laughed. "But I'd want to be Gryffindor, all brave 'n' stuff."


	2. Chapter 2

"What house are you thinking of being in?"

I looked out of the window, wondering. We were twenty minutes into the train journey. Twenty minutes of talking to Tom.

He was quite nice. Sometimes he said something like "I want them to die" and not be kidding and I'd widen my eyes. But apart from that, he seemed like a decent kind of person.

"I don't know," I admitted. "I'd like to be in Gryffindor, because they're brave and stuff. But I think I'm more Ravenclaw-like, all smart and nerdy kind. Definitely not Slytherin; they're evil. Not Hufflepuff. That's just a nice way of saying 'Look, you're not brave, smart or conniving, so we'll tell you you're loyal and crap just so you'll feel better about yourself, OK?'."

Tom laughed. "Hey! I'll be a Hufflepuff."

I smirked. "Probably not! I bet you're a Gryffindor."

"Oh yeah? How much?"

I thought for a moment. "Ten knuts says you'll be a Gryffindor."

We shook hands, sealing the deal.

XXX

"…_I've never yet been wrong,  
I'll have a look inside your mind  
And tell where you belong! "_

The hall applauded as the singing hat finished its song. It fell silent immediately as a tall, dark haired man with a long beard tucked into his bed; Professor Dumbledore.

"When I called out your name," he said, "come up and try on the hat. Abbot, Rose."

A small blond girl walked up nervously and put on the hat, which was far too big for her. After several moments, the hat cried out '_Ravenclaw!_' One of the tables applauded loudly.

"Becket, Miles."

Great. It's going in alphabetical order. I might as well go to sleep.

XXX

"Quinn, Alexander."

"_Gryffindor!"_

"Riddle, Tom."

I watched Tom saunter up to the hat. It barely touched his head before it bellowed '_Slytherin_'. My heart sank.

XXX

"Yeoman, Joshua."

I sighed as the last person (apart from me!) went up to the sorting hat and was announced a Hufflepuff.

I could feel the eyes of everyone in the hall on me. The last person. The person who's surname _had _ to be Zacharias.

"Zacharias, Leah."

I practically sprinted up to the hat and jammed it on. I could see Tom at the Slytherin table, crossing his fingers under the table.

_I don't know what to have_, I thought to myself. _I don't know._

"You don't know, eh? You would be the perfect Ravenclaw," said a small voice in my head; the hat.

_I know but, Tom's in Slytherin._

"Can you picture yourself as a Slytherin."

I said, uh, _thought_ nothing. The hat could tell.

"You're not," it said. "You're a RAVENCLAW." The last word was for the entire hall to hear. The table second from the left, between Gryffindor and Slytherin burst into applause as I walked down to them, avoiding Tom's eye.

"My mum was a witch. She works in the post office, sorting meant-for-wizard mail from the Muggle stuff. My dad's a wizard too. He works in Diagon alley. His name's Flynn Fortescue. He owns the ice cream shop."

I nodded at Therese ("Call me Terrie!") Fortescue, who was telling me about her parents.

"I get free ice creams when I go there. There's all sorts. But what about you? Are your parents wizards?"

"My mum writes books and my dad's a librarian. They're Mugg-"

Seeing as this wouldn't lead to a conversation about anything magical, Terrie continued talking about dragon flavoured sauce that she was allergic to.

"Terrie," I said, several minutes later, interrupting her rant on the "Boggart" she found in her house. "Hold on one moment." She looked affronted as I turned away.

"Hey!" I said, my voice just above a whisper. "Tom! Oi! Tom!"

He didn't hear me. I threw I roast potato at him. He ignored me. I threw another potato at some tall kid next to him. The guy turned around angrily.

"What?" he demanded. I told him to get me Tom.

Tom half heartedly paused the conversation with some other Slytherin and turned to me, an angry glare on his face.

"Hey!" I said, with a grin. "I owe you ten Knuts now!" I laughed, fading when I saw the angry glare on Tom's face.

"I'm in Slytherin," he stated flatly.

"What?"

"You are not in Slytherin." And with that, he turned away.


	3. Chapter 3

I stirred the thick mixture, pulling my colour up, over my nose.

"Not good, Zacharias," Professor Slughorn, shaking his head wistfully. "I'm sure that's not a love potion. It's supposed to be light pink by now."

I looked down regretfully at my tar-like substance that reeking of horse stables as Slug Man retracted five points from Ravenclaw.

_Ugh_,_ I give up_, I thought. _I don't do Potions._

"Well done, Tom!" I heard Slug Man praise. "Perfection! Everybody, look at Tom's love potion! I want everyone to follow his amazing example!" I turned round to see Slug Man pinch Riddle's cheek. Get a room?

"What an ass kisser," Terrie said from beside me.

"It's like you read my mind," I agreed, turning back to my glop. "I wish I could bloody ditch potions all-bloody-ready." I heard Slug Man tut as he walked passed, overhearing.

XXX

"Have we got Defense next?" asked Terrie. "God, Merrythought is, like, a hundred. I wish she'd bloody retire already!"

I was just about to agree, when my bag split open, quills, ink and books spilling to the floor.

"Aw, crap. Tell Professor Merrythought I'll be right there."

As Terrie left, I started taking the books out of the leaking ink when I felt a presence leering over me.

I stood up suddenly, face to face with Riddle. He was grinning at me, smirking. He was a lot different than I remembered. The last time I was this close to him was when I was on the first train ride to Hogwarts, and he'd changed a _lot_ since then.

"Hello, Riddle," I said coldly.

Riddle laughed. "What's with the coldness? Aren't we friends?"

I laughed falsely. "Oh yeah! Remember in the first ten minutes of coming into Hogwarts?" My laughter stopped abruptly. "You're a Slytherin."

His grin fell, his eyes turning from cheerful to cold and hard within a second. Riddle plastered his false grin on again.

"Leah," he said. "I regret it. Getting into Slytherin, giving you the cold shoulder. I wish we could've been friends all these years. Now we're in sixth year and it's now or never. I miss being friends with you."

I glared at him frostily. "We were never friends."

XXX

For the next couple of weeks, Riddle was always just round the corner, out of the corner of my eye, happening to be outside my lesson, just _there_. He didn't come talk to me, just watching silently, waiting for something. One day, after walking out of Transfiguration with Professor Dumbledore, I sucked up the courage to talk to him.

"What are you doing?" I demanded, ignoring Terrie's confused look.

"Nothing," he said. "I was just waiting for…" Riddle looked at the stream of students rushing out of Trans. "I'm waiting for Joe. Hey Joe!" He waved at some quiet kid in my house that glanced away.

"Shut the heck up, Riddle," I said, not using 'heck'.

He pretended to be shocked. "Never expected to hear _that_ come from your lips."

"Yeah well, you didn't expect this from my hand." And I slapped him, the sound cracking like a whip. He rubbed his sore cheek tenderly, and walked away.

For a second, I wondered whether he deserved it, the slap and the hatred. Then I remembered it was him and all sympathy was gone.


End file.
